


Red Tie Rhapsody

by Splotcher



Category: Suits (TV), The Spirit (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splotcher/pseuds/Splotcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suits/ The Spirit crossover. Because I can and did. Mike gets kidnapped by the Octopus and saved by the Spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Tie Rhapsody

**Author's Note:**

> This was half of a project that never got finished, but I still like it and I thought I did a good job with the Octopus Henchmen. So, I leave it with you for your perusal. Please feel free to comment, Construct, or flame with the knowledge that only two of those three will be looked at with any sort of seriousness.
> 
> \--Splotch.

It was never supposed to turn out this way.

He was never supposed to turn out this way.

His parents had been adamant. No drugs. No crime. Study hard. Work hard. Grow up to be a good man.

And he had taken every word to heart, even after they had died. He grew up to be a lawyer, using his gift of eidetic memory to succeed, to win. At first it had been hard, coming from a working class family, to pay the bills, but he didn’t take the easy way out. He didn’t do or peddle drugs like so many of the others, selling their souls before they could do any good to the city that started to suffer as soon as she came under attack by the villains that showed up in the papers every day. 

He had just gotten a job when Trevor got him into trouble. Trevor got hold of him one night, wanted him to throw a case. He had said no. The relationship had gotten estranged when Trevor threw in with the Drug dealers in the slums. 

Trevor had taken him out for conciliatory drinks.

He had been slipped one the Octopus’s patented super addictive drugs into his drink. Afterwards, he’d been a wreck. One hit was all it took, and he’d been strung out, stuck in withdrawal hell. Trevor tried to force him again. 

Mike Ross broke off their friendship there. 

He had gone to court. Had even won, as the shakes took hold and he slipped further into hell.

There he met Jessica Pearson.

She had watched him in court, had been impressed, but told him the only way he’d amount to anything was if he stopped doing drugs. He would have laughed if he hadn’t been in the middle of vomiting on her shoes. When she saw some of it was blood, she took him to the hospital, where the doctors tutted and commented about first time users.

When he told her what happened, she ended up hiring him on the spot.

Jessica Pearson was a woman of fearless patience, biting wit, and determined self-sufficiency. None of her employees had any debts to the criminal underworld. Her people still had their souls. Less obvious was her compassion, hidden by necessity behind the same shield where she hid her next move.

It took him one month, two seeks, and six days to stop feeling the cravings from the one hit of the drug he was exposed to.

In that time, he became one of the best closers in Central City. He had thrown himself into his work, burying the cravings in compassion and paperwork.

And he had done so well.

But a person can’t take a drug so volatile and survive, no, beat it without getting the attention of unwanted parties.

Several heavyset identical men had yanked him off his bike and kidnapped him. He had fought, gotten knocked out in the struggle. 

Woke up looking into dark prison tears and crazed eyes.

The man in the three piece suit had introduced himself as The Octopus.

_The Octopus._

His life had just gotten back on track. He was going to be Mike Ross, the lawyer who saved Central City.

It was never supposed to turn out this way. 

 

“Michael Ross. Mike Ross. Mikey. How are you, man?”

The congenial greeting throws him off and he gapes a bit like a fish before settling on, “Fine. How are you?”

“Oh good. Good. Trying to rule the world with synaptic drugs. Making money like a swiss bank. Making a better clone. Working to kill The Spirit’s ass.” The Octopus sips from a cup brought to him by an amazingly beautiful blonde in a Victorian era bustle dress before she slips away, taking two identical men off with her.

He places the cup down on a table between them. Mike takes a quick stock of the situation.

He’s tied to a chair. The room is decoration with the same Victorian era trend as what his captors are wearing, except for the clothes of three more identical men with stupid grins. A glance at their shirts labels them as Mezzos, Altos, and Bassos.

The Octopus’s clone henchmen.

He is so screwed.

“Why am I here?” He asks, trying to stay calm.

“Because, my dear boy, you are losing me money. And without money, how will I finance my empire? I need money to have all the nice toys.”

“I was not aware the firm had anything to do with your enterprises lately Mr. Octopus.”

“Mr. Octopus. I like that. You are always so polite. My buddies been watchin’ you. Always so polite. Even when you’re strung out on one of my best products.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not too long.”

“I still don’t see why I’m losing you money.”

“You don’t see…YOU DON’T SEE?!”

He closes his mouth abruptly and tries not to flinch.

“You can’t be not addicted to my drug! Everyone who has taken that drug has stayed addicted or died. You didn’t. There something with you, man, and I want to find out. People can’t see you walking around. A person who beat the drug. I’ll lose reputation. I’ll lose money. I WILL LOSE RESPECT!” 

The Octopus slams his hand down, knocking the tea cup off the table. “You see now?”

Mike nods his head quickly. 

The Octopus smiles. “Good. I know you’re smart. Heard about that all the time. I’m smart too. I was thinking about just killing you, but then I thought, why not use you to my advantage? I can use you as my little guinea pig, see why you’re so good at resisting this siren call. We can even be friends. How does that sound?”

“Not very good, actually.” Mike says honestly.

“Well. Maybe you’ll rethink that when the withdrawal symptoms start. I’m sure Floss would love to experiment on you too. You won’t have any shortage of new friends.”

The blonde is back, putting a silver dinner tray between the two of them, and pulling the lid off with a flourish. She flashes him a dazzling smile which he weakly returns out of habit. She cocks her head at him, surprised, but walks off.

“Oh, Floss, what goodies have you brought me today…ah yes. Three of my favorites…and look! One of our experimental products. Shall I lay them out for you?”

He points to a syringe with purple liquid in it. “This is The Royale, as named by the drug dealers. It’s a highly concentrated form of the powder you were slipped in your drink. Makes you feel like a king…for about twenty seconds. Then you’re a slave to it forever. At least, that’s how its supposed to work. This one in the green is the Lime Sizzler. It’s a powerful hallucinogenic…makes you taste burning limes for about two weeks afterwards. The pill here is what I like to refer to as the Week After-you wake up not knowing what happened the week before! Of course, side effect is some strange metamorphic changes in the body…few people get their teeth changed into graham crackers and suddenly the Dealers are all up in arms about the safety of the product! Irony right?!”

“Irony. Yeah.”

“And this one,” he picks up a tiny white tablet, “has no name. At least not yet. But man, you shoulda seen the Beagles. One of them was walking upright like a man for seventeen hours, even tried to hold a newspaper. I think I’ll let you try this one, and you can tell me how it affects you. As a matter of business and science.”

“As a lawyer, I have to tell you I don’t indulge in medical research without a release form.”

“As your captor, I gotta tell you that I don’t give a shit. Open your mouth.”

Mike clamps his mouth closed immediately.

“Open your mouth.”

Mike gives him a look.

“This will be easier for you if you just do as I say.”

He shakes his head.

“Boys, open his mouth.”

The three henchmen grab him, trying to hold his head still while The Octopus picks up the tablet with some tweezers. It takes all of them to hold his head still and his mouth open while The Octopus puts the pill in his mouth. He can feel it making his tongue numb as he blocks it from going down his throat. The octopus gives a look of long sufferring as he opens his mouth to give another command-

When the black gloved fist shuts him up and knocks him on his ass.

Henchmen begin to let go to face the attacker. Freed, Mike spits out the tablet as fast as he can. It lands on the table covered in blood and he moans a bit at the sight.

Mezzos goes flying over his head and decimates the table. There are now sharp edges poking up and Mike struggles to turn the chair, trying to get loose. He manages to get close to a splintered table leg, and doing his best to ignore the way it sticks out of the very dead henchmen, he managed to slice through one of the ropes, freeing himself. 

He shimmies out of the ropes, and turns to see The Octopus and the Spirit in a knockdown-drag out fight. They don’t see him or have just forgot he exists, so he stumbles away from them, desperately looking for an exit.

He manages to get out of the room, finding himself in a warehouse. He dodges heavy machinery and crates, finding himself in front of loading doors. He manages to yank one halfway open and stumbles out into one of the worst parts of the city.

And straight into a mob of The Octopus’s henchmen.

“Ain’t that the guy Boss wanted?”

“Boss already got him.”

“So why is he here?”

“Maybe Boss let him go.”

“But Boss wanted to kill him.”

“That’s what Boss said.”

“We was listenin’.”

“Were you listening when he said he was going to use me as bait for all the drug addicts in the city?” He blurts out. His voice sounds hoarse and his tongue is still numb, but he can speak.

“No.”

“We wasn’t there.”

“Well, maybe you should ask him when he comes out of the building. I’m sure he’ll tell you the same thing and totally not be mad that you didn’t stop me from my very important mission.”

“….What?” The henchmen are all looking very confused.

“The Octopus won’t be mad if you let me go.”

“Okay. Have a nice night!” They waved as he ducked through and made it to the other side, and began to run. It would only be a matter of time before they figured things out or the fight stopped.

He had only a two minute head start when he heard The Octopus’s voice and the shots began ringing out.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

He was going to die. He was going to die, and it would be with some awful drug in his system and Jessica would be so angry and upset, and who would take care of his Grandmother, and on top of that-

Pounding footsteps came up from behind and as he threw a glance over his shoulder to see how far they were, a dark figure stepped out and wrapped an arm around his waist and clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him into an alleyway.

Terror struck him and he began to fight against the incredibly strong grip around his waist, trying to force the hand off his mouth.

“Calm down Mr. Ross, calm down! You want to give us away? I’m the Spirit, I’m not going to hurt you.”

He stops struggling, turns in the other man’s grip.

It is The Spirit. 

And he has the most incredible blue eyes.

^*^**^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The rest of the night is a blur. He gets escorted to the Hospital by The Spirit. The doctors take samples of the alien drug in his system, but don’t do much else. Except for the bleeding of his gums and tongue, which is stopping even as they press cotton balls in his mouth, there are no ill effects. They congratulate each other on the diagnosis. They don’t think to congratulate him on being smart enough not to swallow the pill.

There is a loud bang at one moment as the world starts to get a little hazy from exhaustion. He dimly remembers Jessica slapping someone, and he thinks it might have been The Spirit. He’d heard the Man’s reputation was legendary. He may want to avoid Jessica in the future.

Somewhere between the stress and hazy exhaustion he remembers Jessica swooping in and pulling him out of the room, out of the hospital and into the car. He would be worried about the legal ramifications of it, about Jessica pulling him away from medical care without his consent, but she’s never been wrong before, and she did slap The Spirit. She probably wasn’t in the mood for legal discussions.

He wakes up again in another unfamiliar place. He does the first logical thing that comes to his mind.

He panics.

He’s up out of the bed in a flash, tripping over sheets and landing in an undignified heap on the floor. He struggles to get up, knowing how much noise he’s making and feeling the terror grow because of it-

When a strong arm hauls him up and waves a cup under his nose. He almost tries to slap it away…

But it smells like coffee.

He looks up from the cup and right into The Spirit’s eyes again.

They stay like that for a moment, then The Spirit smirks.

“It isn’t great but it isn’t poison. Bet you would like it if you just had a sip.” He waves it again. Mike takes it and holds it nervously. After a moment he does take a sip, conscious of how badly his hands shake.

He grimaces. “Are you sure it isn’t poison?”

A bark of laughter almost startles him into losing the cup, but a hand wraps around the cup (and consequently, his own fingers) and a voice that feels vaguely safe settles in beside his ear as he gets steered back to the bed..

“You’re probably right. You still don’t look too good, why don’t you lay back down? Jessica would try to kill me if she saw you like this. You’re her pup, you know. She likes you a lot. I haven’t seen her take to anybody like that since…well…me!” The warm chuckle lifts the oppressive fear somewhat.

“How do you know her?” He asks a little muzzily, laying back down. The Spirit pulls the covers back over him, even tucking him in. It feels bizarrely surreal, yet very comforting.

“Known her for a long time. Very long. I respect her a lot. Tell her that, and I will throw you back to The Octopus. Understand?”

“You’re strange.”

“…On a scale of one to ten, that doesn’t even register on the scale of nasty things said to me.”

“Wasn’ bein’ nasty. Just observing. Thank you for caring.”

“This isn’t caring. This is me doing my job.”

“Yeah. Well. Thanks.”

He drifts away again after that.

*^^**^*^*^*^**^*^*^*^*^*^*^


End file.
